Why Mermaids Sing sscm-3

by C. S. Harris

  Kat was silent for a moment. Then she said in an odd, tight voice, “I can imagine Jarvis ordering those young men killed and mutilated.”

  Sebastian lifted his head to look at her. Even in the soft light of the flickering candles, she seemed pale and drawn. Yet he could find nothing to say or do to successfully encourage her to confide in him. “Yes. Except it doesn’t fit somehow. How could Jarvis have found out what happened on that ship? And why not move against the men directly? God knows he’s powerful enough.”

  “Jarvis has spies all over the country,” Kat countered, sitting up. “How could the simple father of some dead cabin boy have found out what happened on that ship?”

  Sebastian sighed and drew her back down to him. “I don’t know. Perhaps when we find out who he was, we’ll have the answer.”

  Chapter 39

  FRIDAY, 20 SEPTEMBER 1811

  The next day, Sebastian was reading the Morning Post while consuming a light breakfast in his morning room when he suddenly let out a crude oath.

  “Is something wrong with the eggs, my lord?” asked his majordomo, starting forward.

  “What?” Sebastian looked up, puzzled. “Oh. No, the eggs are fine, Morey. Thank you.”

  Shoving the plate aside, Sebastian turned his attention to the news article on page three: RETIRED GREENWICH SEA CAPTAIN FOUND DEAD IN RIVER.

  The church bells were tolling a death knell when Sebastian drove into the outskirts of Greenwich.

  Leaving the chestnuts in Tom’s care, Sebastian let himself in the garden gate at the end of the long walk. He glanced up at the spreading limbs of the old oak, but the child Francesca was not there today.

  With an oddly troubled heart, he mounted the steps to the house. He half expected the Captain’s young widow to decline to see him. But he sent up the name he’d given her before, Mr. Simon Taylor, and after a few moments, the little housemaid Gilly returned to tell him Mrs. Bellamy would receive him.

  She half sat, half lay upon a sofa drawn up so she could look out over the gleaming expanse of the river sliding past the house. At Sebastian’s appearance, she tucked the black-edged handkerchief she’d been clutching up her sleeve. The ravages left by her tears were obvious.

  “My apologies for intruding upon you at such a time,” said Sebastian, bowing over her hand. “Please accept my condolences for your newest loss.”

  She did not seem to notice the subtle differences in his appearance and attire. She simply nodded, swallowing as if unable to speak for a moment, then gestured to a nearby chair. “Plees have a seat, Mr. Taylor. What may I do for you?”

  Sebastian hesitated. According to the article in the Post, Bellamy was believed to have fallen into the water and drowned after suffering some sort of seizure while walking along the river. To Sebastian, it seemed improbable. But how do you ask a woman if her husband committed suicide?

  He said instead, “What can you tell me about your husband’s last voyage, on the Harmony?”

  The question did not seem to surprise her. She brought up one fist to press her knuckles against her lips, and Sebastian found himself wondering how much of the truth the Captain had confided to his wife. “It preyed upon him always, that voyage,” she said in a strained voice. “Not simply the loss of the ship, but the mutiny of the crew and those long, horrible days without food. He never got over it.”

  “It ruined his career,” said Sebastian.

  “Yes. But I often thought there was more to it than that. Such terrible dreams he would have. He’d wake up screaming, as if he’d looked into the very jaws of hell, calling that poor boy’s name.”

  “What boy?” Sebastian asked sharply.

  “Gideon, the cabin boy.” She hesitated, then shook her head. “If I ever knew his last name, I’ve forgotten it. He died, you see, before they were rescued.”

  “What about the other young man who died? David Jarvis. Did your husband ever mention him?”

  “Sometimes. But not nearly so often. I believe Gideon reminded my husband of Adrian at that age. I often thought my husband blamed himself for the boy’s death.”

  “Why is that?”

  She looked confused. “Because he failed to keep the boy out of harm’s way, I suppose.”

  She pleated the skirt of her mourning gown with shaking fingers. “He’d been particularly obsessed about the cabin boy’s death these past few months.” She hesitated, then added softly, “He began drinking far more heavily than before.”

  “Was he drinking heavily last night?”

  She nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. Sebastian watched her swing her head away to stare out over the river. He supposed it was possible the old Captain had staggered into the river and been too drunk to haul himself out. But Sebastian doubted it.

  “What will you do now?” he asked her. “Return to Brazil?”

  She shook her head. “My father disowned me when I married Bellamy and followed him here to England. Besides, this is the only home Francesca has ever known.”

  “How is she taking it?”

  The widow sighed. “Badly. First Adrian, now her father. It’s too much.”

  Rising, Sebastian slipped one of his cards from his pocket and laid it on the table. “If there is anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to contact me.” Of course, the name on the card—his own name and title—did not match the name he had given her. But now was not the time to explain it to her.

  “I’ll see myself out,” he said, and left her still staring silently out the window.

  At the gate, he glanced back at the house’s crepe-draped facade. He saw a flash at one of the third-story nursery windows—a child’s pale face pressed for an instant against the panes. Then it was gone.

  Chapter 40

  Sebastian was in his library, glancing through the credentials of another round of applicants for the position of valet, when Morey knocked discreetly at the door.

  “A young lady to see you, my lord.”

  Sebastian looked up in surprise. “A young lady?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  For a lady of quality to visit the home of an unmarried man was considered a serious breach of etiquette. Sebastian pushed to his feet. “Show her in immediately.”

  A tall young woman wearing a heavy veil swept into the room. She waited until the majordomo had bowed himself out, then thrust back her veil to reveal the no-nonsense features of Miss Hero Jarvis.

  “Good God,” said Sebastian before he could stop himself.

  A breath of amusement flickered across her face. “Just so,” she said crisply, jerking off her fine kid gloves. “Believe me, Lord Devlin, I am as appalled to be here as you are to have me. However, when I considered the alternatives, it soon became apparent that this was by far the simplest course. No one who knows either of us will give a moment’s serious credence to any rumors that may arise should my visit here become known, which it will not. My maid awaits me in the entrance hall.”

  Sebastian blinked, then stretched out one hand to indicate the nearest sofa. “Please, have a seat.”

  “Thank you, but I have no intention of tarrying longer than necessary.” Untying the strings of her reticule, she drew forth several sheets of paper, folded and worn as if with repeated readings.

  “What is that?” he asked warily.

  She held the folded pages out to him. “A letter written by my brother, David, and mailed from Cape Town. The Harmony docked there for minor repairs on the voyage home from India, and David entrusted the letter to an officer on a frigate that sailed before them. Look at it,” she said impatiently, when he hesitated.

  Taking the letter from her hand, he flipped it open. Dearest Hero, he read, then paused to glance up at her. “Why are you giving this to me?”

  To his surprise, she tweaked the letter from his grasp. “I’m not. I simply thought it best that you actually see it so that you would have no doubt as to its existence. What I am giving you is this.” She drew another paper from her reticule. This time,
he took it promptly.

  He found himself staring at a list of names written in a different scrawl he took to be Miss Jarvis’s own. He threw her a quizzical look, then glanced quickly through the list. Some of the names—Lord Stanton, Sir Humphrey Carmichael, the Reverend and Mrs. Thornton—he recognized. Others he did not.

  “My brother was a keen and enthusiastic observer of his fellow men,” she was saying. “His letter contained delightful vignettes on each and every one of his fellow passengers and the Harmony’s officers. That is a listing of their names.”

  Sebastian brought his gaze back to her aquiline face. “How did you know I wanted this?”

  “I am my father’s daughter,” she said enigmatically.

  Grunting, he ran through the list again. It was divided into two sections labeled Passengers and Officers. Along with the names of the passengers he already knew were four he did not: Elizabeth Ware, Mr. and Mrs. Dunlop, and Felix Atkinson.

  Elizabeth Ware must have been the spinster of uncertain age, he realized. Mr. and Mrs. Dunlop would be the couple with estates in the North, while Mr. Felix Atkinson, surely, was the gentleman from the East India Company.

  Beneath the heading Officers were three names: Joseph Canning, Elliot Fairfax, and Francis Hillard. At the very bottom was written Gideon, cabin boy. Sebastian swore softly under his breath.

  “What is it?” asked Miss Jarvis.

  “The cabin boy’s last name. You don’t know it?”

  “No. David referred to him only as ‘Gideon.’” Her brows drew together in a light frown. “He’s important. Why?”

  Sebastian looked into her haughty, disdainful face, and somehow overcame the urge to answer her question. Folding the list, he tucked it into his pocket, then stood regarding her quizzically. “I still don’t understand why you brought the list directly to me rather than simply giving it to your father.”

  To his surprise, she looked vaguely discomfited. Twitching the skirt of her dusky blue walking dress with one hand, she said airily, “It so happens that my father is unaware of the letter’s existence. It would serve no purpose for him to learn of it now. I trust you will not mention it to him.”

  Sebastian leaned back against his desk and folded his arms at his chest, his gaze on Miss Jarvis’s face. As he watched, an unexpected tide of color touched her cheeks. And he found himself wondering what else David Jarvis had written in that letter to his sister that she was unwilling to allow either Sebastian or her own father to read its contents.

  As if aware of his train of thought, she said, “My brother was a very sensitive young man. He knew our father found him…disappointing. I don’t believe I need to say more.”

  Her words awakened uncomfortable memories from Sebastian’s own youth, memories of Hendon’s palpable disappointment in his heir during the long, painful years following the deaths of Cecil and Richard. “No,” said Sebastian, pushing away from the desk. “You’ve no need to say more. And I won’t mention the letter to his lordship. Now don’t you think it’s time you collected your maid and ran away?”

  Lowering her veil, she turned to go, then hesitated to say, “I know my father believes me to be in danger.”

  “You disagree?” said Sebastian, surprised.

  “If my reading of this situation is correct, yes.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I looked into some of the names on that list. Mr. Felix Atkinson has two children, a son named Anthony and a younger daughter. Mr. and Mrs. Dunlop have three children. They’re why I am here. And why I hope you will do all within your power to catch this madman, whoever he is. Before he strikes again.”

  Chapter 41

  Sir Humphrey Carmichael was seated at his elegant desk at the Bank, his head bent over some ledgers, when Sebastian walked in and slapped a sheet of paper on the blotter before him.

  “What the hell is this?” Carmichael demanded, looking up.

  Sebastian went to stand with his back to the window overlooking the street. “It’s a list of the passengers and officers of the Harmony. You do see the pattern, I presume?”

  A muscle jumped along Carmichael’s jaw, but he said nothing.

  Sebastian leaned against the edge of the windowsill and crossed his arms at his chest. “You didn’t tell me you and Lord Stanton were once shipmates.”

  Carmichael settled back in his chair, his lower lip curling in disdain. “What do you think? That I discuss the details of my private life with anyone who should happen to express an interest in them?”

  “I think that for once in your life, you’ve found yourself in a situation you can’t control.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t you? Did you hear that Captain Bellamy is dead?”

  “I had heard.”

  “The tale is he fell in the river. I suppose it’s even possible, given the way he’s been drinking lately. But I suspect suicide is the more likely explanation. It must be a difficult thing to live with, knowing your actions in the past have led directly to the death of your only son.”

  “Get out,” said Carmichael, his voice shaking with raw anger. “Get out of my office.”

  Sebastian stayed where he was, his gaze on the other man’s livid face. “What really happened on that ship?”

  “It’s no mystery. The story was in all the papers.”

  “Your version of the story.”

  “There is no other.”

  “Really? That’s not what Jack Parker’s brother says. You do remember Jack Parker, don’t you? Your testimony helped to hang him. Except it seems that according to Jack Parker, Lord Jarvis’s son, David, wasn’t hurt in the mutiny after all. David Jarvis was alive and well when the crew left the ship.”

  Carmichael shoved to his feet. “They left us to starve. How can you believe anything one of those blackguards said?”

  “Men with a rope around their necks don’t usually lie.”

  Carmichael calmly resumed his seat and pulled the ledger toward him. “I’m a busy man, my lord. Kindly close the door on your way out.”

  Sebastian pushed away from the windowsill. But he paused at the door to look back and say, “By the way, you wouldn’t happen to remember the name of the Harmony’s cabin boy, would you?”

  Carmichael’s head came up, all color slowly draining from his face. He sucked in a deep breath, but all he said was, “No. No, I wouldn’t.”

  Sebastian was leaving the Bank, headed up Threadneedle Street, when he heard his father’s deep baritone call peremptorily, “Devlin.”

  Sebastian looked around as the Earl’s ponderous town carriage drew up, its crested door swinging open. “Step up,” said Hendon. “I’d like a word with you.” As if sensing Sebastian’s hesitation, Hendon growled, “This isn’t about your bloody aunt Henrietta and her matrimonial machinations. Now step up, will you?”

  Sebastian laughed and leapt up beside his father.

  “Why didn’t you tell me someone tried to kill you on the Thames the other day?” Hendon demanded without preamble.

  “How did you hear about that?”

  Hendon pressed his lips together in a tight frown. “It’s because of what you were asking about the other day. These murders. Isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  Hendon’s chest swelled. “Damn it, Devlin. What kind of pastime is this for a man of your birth and station? Mixing with the lowest dregs of society? Nosing around for information like some common village constable?”

  Sebastian kept his own voice steady. “We’ve been through all this before, sir.”

  Hendon worked his lower jaw back and forth in thought. “You’re bored—is that it?”

  “Not exactly—”

  “Because if it is, there’s no denying the Foreign Office could use a man with your talents. I don’t need to elaborate. I know what you did in the Army.” He paused. When Sebastian said nothing, he added gruffly, “We are still at war, remember?”

  “I remember.”


  “Napoleon has a new spymaster in London, replacing Pierrepont. Did you know that?”

  “I had assumed he would.”

  Hendon sat forward. “Yes, but whereas we knew of Pierrepont and could keep an eye on those he contacted, this man’s identity continues to elude us.”

  Sebastian stared out the window at a ragged boy sweeping manure from the crossing. His next step, Sebastian had decided, would be to pay a visit to Lord Stanton—

  “Devlin. Did you hear what I said? Even if Jarvis is able to persuade this actress to betray Napoleon’s man, your contribution to—”

  “What?” Sebastian brought his gaze back to his father’s face. “What actress?”

  “I don’t know her name. I gather she was passing information to Pierrepont before he fled the country last winter. Jarvis has given her until tonight to give up the man’s name or suffer the consequences.”

  Sebastian’s hand tightened around the swaying carriage strap beside him. He was only dimly aware of his father’s voice continuing. A succession of images from last February flickered through Sebastian’s memory: Kat holding out a red leather book she’d somehow known to retrieve from its hiding place…Kat dressed in black, her face pale after Rachel York’s funeral…

  Kat as she’d been these last few days, nervous and afraid.

  “Devlin. Are you listening to me?”

  Sebastian sat forward abruptly. “Tell your coachman to draw up.”

  “What? What are you doing?” Hendon demanded as Sebastian thrust open the carriage door. “Devlin.”

  Chapter 42

  Charles, Lord Jarvis leaned forward to study the row of hieroglyphs emblazoned against the brilliantly painted red and green tones of the sarcophagus. “Late seventh or sixth century B.C. wouldn’t you say?”

  He turned to the curator at his elbow, a painfully thin man whose shrunken skin and bony features reminded Jarvis of the Egyptian mummies the scholar had dedicated his life to studying. “I’d say so, yes,” agreed the curator, clearing his throat.

  The sarcophagus was part of a shipment of Egyptian artifacts only recently arrived at the British Museum, and Lord Jarvis was amongst the first in London to see them. His passion for Egyptology was one of the few distractions from statecraft Jarvis allowed himself.